Working to Be a Leader

As a young child, I’d get up on Thanksgiving morning with the smell and look of wonderful food filling my senses.  While Mom was busy cooking a 22 pound turkey, making homemade Parker House rolls (the best I ever tasted), and creating the rest of our traditional meal, I’d watch the Macy’s parade on the TV.  Later, I’d join my sisters in getting the table ready for dinner that could include seven or twelve or more family members and friends.

Mom was born in New York City and left in 1920—before the Macy’s parade started in 1924.  Living in Los Angeles on what could have been a pretty warm day, we watched the thematic floats roll by on the TV screen, marching bands from around the country perform, and large balloons guided by strong ropes and stronger Macy employees float along the parade route of onlookers looking as if they were freezing.

Maybe that’s the reason that a couple of years after I moved into an appartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan just two blocks from where the Macy’s balloons get blown up on Thanksgiving Eve, I was attracted to seeing the characters come to life.

Snoopy in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade 2008

Specifically, I began inviting friends over to share some food and drink then join me in walking over to see the ballons.  There was something magical about looking at flat pieces of heavy-duty plastic grow into a form that brought memories and a smile of delight to those watching.

The idea for having my ‘annual’ event was also routed in the Christmas Eve party that my sister-in-law Jean had every year.  It was a time to feast but also to join together to sing Christmas Carols and catch up with those that I hadn’t seen for a year.

Maybe it was 1991 when my annual Thanksgiving ritual became a part of my life.  Each year after that, the guest list got bigger and my home fuller with clients, friends, neighbors, and family.  In 2002, I didn’t have a party since I was getting ready to remodel my home; the following year, my sister Alice died a few days before Thanksgiving.  I was sick with exteme grief and loss when a friend called to tell me he had ticket to the reviewing stand of the parade. 

This year, I continue with my holiday ritual, remembering Mom and Jean, and their influence on my own Thanksgiving party, the many people who have shared the gathering with me, and the new generation of Hendersons who are now being educated on the magic of the balloons.

May the holiday be happy and your Thanksgiving meaningful.

On Monday, I had a two-hour dental appointment scheduled.  Going to the dentist is not my favorite thing to do and listening to the drill or the scraping of tartar not my favorite past-time.

Maybe that was the reason that I chose to wear an orange plaid shirt, orange pants, and my lime green faux seude jacket to the dentist.  To use colors to brighten my day.  To not be afraid of what others would think of me. 

Sitting down on a bench in a car on the R train at 9:30 a.m., I saw a few people noticing my color combination.  And, as usual, I looked around to see theirs.  In a car when all the seats were taken and many passengers were standing, I saw only one other person who was not wearing a solid black or dark colored jacket or coat.

The other person was a woman wearing a dark blue or black jacket covered with bright colored flowers.  Lovely, I thought.  And looking closer, I saw a few bright colored sweaters, shirts, and other clothing underneath the ’standard’ New York outer garmets.

Wearing black coats or clothes is standard for New Yorkers.  It’s a color that wears well (dirt and stains aren’t as obvious) and goes with almost anything.  Also, it’s the choice for the severe look popular in fashion, design, and other fields.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I remember that my mother didn’t want any of her four girls to wear black.  Since I was a size 18 when I just 12, I would go with my mom to Lane Bryant or the large size women’s section of department stores to try to find clothes that fit.  About 98% of those clothes were black.

 My older sister Alice made many of my clothes on a then old pedal powered Singer sewing machine.  Ten years older than me, she chose to work her magic with bright colored cloth, never black.  There was one exception.  One year I was a witch for Halloween and my sister Alice designed and created a fantastic costume for me complete with a homemade hat.  That costume won a prize at a competition held at our local park.  Alice created many costumes for me and another sister; we always won ribbons at local events.

A few years ago at the urging of a close friend, I went to a color consultant and was told that I should never wear black.  He said that my color was a ”bright spring” and that I could wear shades of brown but not black.  Going through my closet, I purged a lot of the dark clothes that I thought would slim me and help me fit in.  I kept one black 2-piece top and skirt for evening or special occasions.  One occasion was Alice’s funeral in 2003, when, over my mourning clothes, I wore a yellow jacket.

Writing this a few days after what turned out to be a pretty painless trip to the dentist, I realize that the colors on the subway car on Monday struck a memory chord.  The memories of the many homemade prize-winning Halloween costumes Alice created.  Memories of the choices my mother and sister made for me as a child.  Memories of the encouragement to not be like all the other girls but to be fearless about standing out by wearing a bright color combination, a combination I’ll wear as a leader in professinal groups, educator in front of audiences, coach who sits across a desk from her clients, passenger on a subway car.

Happy Halloween!  Hope your day is a bright one.  Now, I have to go and decide what I want to wear today.

In honor of Mother’s Day, I feel moved to pass along one bit of advice that I got from my mother. This advice is relevant to girls/women and boys/men on a career search — or the ambitious employed who want to stay employed or get a promotion.

Although Mom died in 1968, I can, at times, still hear her voice reciting one of her many pieces of advice.

“Don’t be like all the other girls,” she’d say if I wanted a pair of white boots just like all the other girls were wearing in TEEN magazine.

“Don’t be like all the other girls,” she’d say then proceed to tell me about the twin girls who used to live down the street and who had their own way of dressing and being in the world.

“Don’t be like all the other girls,” she’d say on any occasion to encourage me to be who I was and not someone else.

Mom was right.  When I left for college, all I wanted to be was normal and like all the other girls.  A bit of a challenge to figure out what normal was since I wound up at the University of California at Berekley during the height of the Free Speech and Vietnam War protests.

As I’ve gotten older, however, and worked my way into leadership roles and developed a business providing leadership coaching to executives, I embrace the essence of her message.   Her message: to be fully present and let others know the unique qualities you possess and the great skills you bring to the table.

Today with the economy the worst since the Great Depression, women and men looking for work—or working to keep their jobs—have to stand out, to not be like all the other girls/boys, to demonstrate their unique brand of passion and how they will contribute their skills, abilities, and talents to the workplace.

Mom would like the person that I am today.  I’m not like all the other girls.  And not like all the other women I know.  I’m me.  And that’s a good thing.

Sit back and reflect on how you stand out with your own unique brand.

Then wish your mother and other nuturing women in your life a Happy Mother’s Day!

Last year at this same time, I was on a flight from Athens, Greece, back to New York City.  With me was my niece Tomi Sue Henderson, a veterinarian who lives in a town of 146 located in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains in California.

This year, during spring break at Zicklin School of Business where I teach, I had planned to visit Tomi Sue’s father, my brother, in his small town near in the southern part of Oregon.  The launch of Temping with Tycoons and the state of the economy made me decide to stay in my big city hometown of New York.

So instead of sharing a travel report from a trip this year, I’ll reflect on some memories from last year—and tie in my report with how I feel about the economy.

Here’s a picture taken at Santorini on the last day of our “Grecian Delight” tour.  Tomi Sue has her arm around me on what was a gorgeous spring day on this “volanic” island.

You’ll notice the mostly white houses of the town of Fira clustered together at the top and down the steep incline to Tomi Sue’s right.  On Santorini, Mykonos, and other Greek islands we visited, home owners are required to paint their houses at regular intervals.  Tourists who arrive by ship or air are a major source of income for Greece, meaning that maintaining an immaculate impression at each port-of-call is an absolute necessity.

Off to my left you’ll see the steep drop off of land into the Aegean.  Santorini is believed by some to be the site of the “Lost Continent of Atlantis,” a legendary island that one day just sunk into the sea.

Santorini earned this reputation because around 1450 B.C., a catastrophe happened.  The volcano on the island erupted, the center of the island collapsed into the sea, and earthquakes reverberated throughout the Aegean, toppling some advanced civilizations as far away as the island of Crete.

The edge that we’re standing on around the sunken watery center of the island is called the caldera.  A caldera is formed by the collapse of land after a volcano erupts. 

Caldera is also a good term for what I see when thinking about what happened to the economy.  There’s been an earthquake on Wall Street that is still reverberating across the land with more layoffs at companies, foreclosures of homes, and individuals who will have to settle for “survival jobs.” 

We’re on the edge looking out from the caldera to the center of the economy, hoping that it will rise up and renew itself to restore faith in our financial system as well as opportunities get off the “career bridge” and into meaningful work.

I still want to visit my brother and I also want to return to Greece.  That’s why I’m hoping that the Wall Street we lost will be rebuilt with a solid foundation for a stronger economy and more jobs.

Here’s a sad statistic:  50% of youth under the age of 21 in an urban inner city were found to experience the sudden unexpected death of a close relative or friend. 

Last Friday, April 3, Robin Goodman, Ph.D., was the guest speaker at the Women’s Issues Committee of the New York City Chapter of the Employee Assistance Professionals Association.  When Lynda Johnson, my Co-Chair of the Committee, first heard about the work Robin does at A Caring Hand last fall, she was intent on getting Robin on our schedule of presenters.  Glad that we did.  But also sad that there is such a need for these services.  The statistic above combined with the latest news about parents shooting their children or a brother beheading his sister are troubling. 

Robin is the Director of A Caring Hand, The Billy Esposito Foundation Bereavement Center.  She speaks to a wide range of audiences on the services that can help children and their families through their grief journeys.  Parents often don’t know what to tell their children after a husband, sister, or other loved one dies.

During her presentation, Robin shared with us valuable information about how children understand death and their reactions to grief.  She also shared ways to create a framework to foster positive emotional health that can last a lifetime. 

Often, a child is not able to talk about their grief.  Robin led those in attendance through a short guided visualization then invited us to use crayons, colored pencils, or water colors to draw who or what we saw.

This was a very powerful experience for me; one that brought back memories of a brother who died when I was just five-years-old.  After he died, I would ask my mother, “Where’s Johnny?”  She would tell me that he was, ”with Jesus,” or “up in Mary’s room behind the clock.”  Robin stressed the need to be direct with children and explain the loss in terms that children can understand.

A Caring Hand offers a “Child and Family Bereavement Group” free of charge.

For further information, call A Caring Hand at 212-229-2273 or email RobinGoodman@acaringhand.org

“Blood Type:  RAGU is a hilarious and poignant exploration of the Sicilian immigrant experience based on the life of writer and performer Frank Ingrasciotta.  This one-man show features more than 20 characters, who live, love, and laugh as they struggle to thrive in a new culture, while nurturing the traditions of the old.  It’s not drama…it’s just family!”

That’s the what you’ll read on postcard announcing the run of the show at The Actor’s Playhouse, an off-Broadway theatre here in New York City.  And you could possibly have read a review of the work, “Mapping a Family’s Domestic Battleground” (New York Times, March 9, 2009).

It’s the perseverance of the performer Frank Ingrasciotta that I want to write about here.  Why?  Perseverance is what we all need during the worst economy since the Great Depression.  Holding onto whatever dream, ambition, or goal you have requires faith in yourself, relentless work, and perseverance to realize the result you seek. 

Frank and I met in a performance class twelve years ago.  The performance piece he was working on was called “Blood Type:  Ragu.”  He kept on working on it because he knew that it was a good slice of life which others could identify with and understand.  He also kept working on it because it mattered a lot to him to bring his unique experience and artistic intellect to audiences.

Frank and I kept in touch after our class ended.  I saw him perform his work in a loft in SoHo, in a small theatre in NoHo, in an even smaller theatre in Bay Shore on Long Island, and to what could barely be called a theatre since there were only a few rows of folding chairs in a teeny space on 42nd Street.

I didn’t go to these performances alone.  I went with friends, different friends each time to expose them to the work of this dedicated actor, producer, and director.

Frank came to my one-woman show that I wrote, produced, and performed in 1999 at the 76th Street Theatre Lab.  That was the end of my “stage” career.  Frank kept on performing though, finding the right combination of laughter, humor, pathos, and hope to develop the show he wanted others to see.

If I remember correctly, a producer was in the audience at that teeny space on 42nd Street.  He liked the show.  Liked it enough to book a run at the Actor’s Playhouse.  Liked it enough to work with Frank to help made his performance perseverance pay off in acknowledging his great talent.

Although your performance may be in a corporate setting and not an off-Broadway stage, you can still learn the value from following-through on what is really important to your life.  Just think of “Blood Type: Ragu” and its journey to a large audience.

In early February, I had the pleasure to meet Joe Pantoliano, an actor best known for his role as Ralph Cifaretto on the Sopranos.  I remember him most as Eddie Moscone, the bail bondsman in the movie Midnight Run starring Robert DeNiro and Charles Grodin.

Like me, Joe attended a seminar on “Executives at Risk and Addiction in the Workplace” sponsored by Lee Hecht Harrison featuring Joseph A. Califano, Jr., Founding Chair and President of The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse (CASA) at Columbia University.  (More on what I learned in another post.) 

At the end of the program, Joey Pants (as some call him) announced a new initiative he’s started, No Kidding, MeToo!

The mission posted on his website is, “No Kidding, Me Too! is an organization whose purpose is to remove the stigma attached to brain dis-ease through education and the breaking down of societal barriers.  Our goal is to empower those with brain dis-ease to admit their illness, seek treatment, and become even greater members of society.”

When I went to the NKM2 website, I looked at the list of brain dis-eses and noticed one was missing:  borderline personality disorder.  I’m very familiar with that disorder.

My company’s mission is to help leaders level the playing field of obstacles blocking optimum workplace performance and career advancement.

The mission evolved from my own battle to remove a significant hindrance while working to be a leader:  borderline personality disorder (BPD).  BPD is a serioius mental illness that is diagnosed more often than schizophrenia or bipolar (manic-depressive illness) combined.

Recent research shows a prevalence of BPD in nearly six percent of adult Americans—which translates to 18 million who experience poor self-image, impulsivity, rage, bodily self-harm, recurrent suicidal behavior, unstable relationships, and frequent career changes.

Among other approaches to my recovery, I read books about others who suffered and recovered from mental illness.  Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison writes about her history of manic-depressive illness in An Unquiet Mind:  A Memoir of Mood and Madness.  She states, “As the years went by I became more and more determined to pull out some good from all of the pain, to try and put my illness to some use.”  The author continues to say that tenure as a professor of psychiatry at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine was, “a symbol of stability I craved and the ultimate recognition I sought for having competed and survived in the normal world.”

One prominent symbol of my stability is my ”recognition” as an Adjunct Instructor teaching, “Employee Development and Training” to Human Resources majors within the Management Department at the Zicklin School of Business.  Zicklin, located in Manhattan, is part of Baruch College, the nation’s most ethnically diverse campus. 

Another is working with leaders who trust their careers to me.  It’s a trust I take very seriously.  It’s a trust I’ve earned working to be a leader and gaining workplace intelligence.

I’m making the decision to go public with my disorder to pull out some good from all the pain and put it to some use.  There is hope for those who have BPD.  There is hope for your talent and leadership effectiveness to emerge from behind the cloud of mental illness.  There is hope that your talent that can take you to places—and into leadership positions—you never thought possible.  There is hope for you to make valuable contributions to others.

Like Joey Pants, do not let the stigma of a mental illness or a fear of psychotherapy deter you from seeking help.   Help is out there.

One way you can find help about BPD is to visit National Education Alliance for Borderline Personliaty Disorder.  There you will find information and resources on this serious mental illness. 

‘Tis the season to remember what was once the heart of the baseball world here in New York City. No, not the Yankees. The Brooklyn Dodgers. It was 50 years ago that the Bums left the area and moved to warmer climes. Specifically, my hometown of Los Angeles.

Listening to people who call in to WFAN, the sports talk radio show in NYC, I feel as if the move happened yesterday the caller’s pain sounds so raw. Reading stories like, “Exorcising the Dodgers: 50 years ago, the Dodgers left Ebbets Field for Los Angeles. Isn’t it time their ghosts left, too?” in New York Magazine is representative of the hold the team still has on the hearts and minds of the faithful.

I was close to making my first call to WFAN to say that, “Your loss was my gain.” I was a Dodgers fan at a young age. A Los Angeles Dodgers fan. My father made me and my sisters into loyal followers of the team. I’m glad for it. The team built relationships and started conversations within my family and also with neighbors in my changing neighborhood near Watts – conversations that happened before and continued after the riots of 1965.

Pop and Mom had five boys then produced four girls – of which I’m the youngest. The boys all played sports of one kind or another. The girls a little – but we made up for that by watching not just baseball in person plus football and basketball games on TV with Pop. It wasn’t just that Pop wanted to go to the games and needed company. That was part of it. It was also, though, part of our training in life to go with him. There was something about his observations of the players and the strategy of walking someone intentionally that has stuck with me. Watching my sister Lou fill-in the scorecard then doing it myself to record the statistics of achievement. Cheering when the bugle sounded whether the Dodgers were winning or losing; we did it because they were the home team.

There were times when it wasn’t fun. Like watching a one or no-hit game. Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale were great pitchers who could finesse a baseball to get it right where they wanted it. Watching got fun when Maury Wills tested the pitcher with a long lead from first base and then proceeded to slide into second, looking up to see if he could keep on going. Don, Maury, and Duke Snider were some of the players whose pictures hung on our bedroom wall. A closer look at our favorite players since our usual spot in Chavez Ravine was high up – the cheap seats – right behind home base. It hadn’t been any closer in the Coliseum where we first saw the Dodgers play.

As a leader, I’ve grown to appreciate the lessons I got from attending games with Pop, grateful that he didn’t write us off as just girls who wouldn’t be interested. There was another thing about sports that was important. It gave us a reason to go out and do something with Pop, to relate to him in new ways. Also, the girls used baseball as an excuse to travel. The four girls packed our Dodger blue sweaters and grey skirts then drove up to San Francisco to cheer our home team on in front of the other New York deserters – the Giants.

One of my nieces lives in Northern California and is a serious San Francisco 49ers football fan. In 2004, she said she wanted to come to New York to see her team play the New York Jets. Okay. The Jets won. That was fun. The next year, I went out to her stadium to watch the New York Giants beat the 49ers. Last December I volunteered my leadership services in New Orleans and that weekend the Saints were playing the 49ers. Yup! She was there with me – staying until the very last second of the game, risking missing her flight home even though her team couldn’t catch up. Next week, the 49ers are playing the Giants. My niece flies in on Saturday and leaves on Monday.

I’m looking forward to watching a game with her. It’s like watching a game with Pop. New Yorkers, thank you for parting with the Dodgers. Your loss was my gain. The gain of a gift that keeps on giving in new and delightful ways.

I don’t know how. I attribute that to the fact that I was only 5 when I became an aunt for the first time. The youngest of nine, I grew up with my eleven nieces and nephews in a relationship more like a cousin.

Through the years, I’ve tried to be a good aunt — even a great aunt now that my nieces and nephews are having children of their own. We’ve kept in touch, been estranged, then gathered back together for weddings, births, funerals. Recently, I’ve gotten into the habit of sending cards to all my family members for Valentine’s Day, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Often, I wouldn’t hear back but that wasn’t why I sent the cards. I was reaching out to say, “I love you.”

In 2006, I took on the leadership of planning a family reunion. Six of my nieces and nephews showed up with their families for a wonderful evening of sharing and a day of joyous fun at Disneyland.

This year, I decided I’d add in a summer ‘touch’ to fill out my calendar of family cards. It was on my mind and even my to-do-list but got easily pushed aside for business and the renovation, renovation, renovation of my home.

On June 30, I got a surprise when I opened an envelope that I could see was from my nephew John. The cover of the folded card was a summer theme with an image of a lighthouse and seagulls flying around it. Inside the card was his message printed in large block printed capital letters JUST SENDING SOME SUMMER GREETINGS YOUR WAY with John written in script.

The last time I got a piece of correspondence from John, 47 and living in Crescent City, California, was a Christmas card about ten years ago. It made me happy to receive his card and I wanted to send him – and my other family members – a card as well.

On Monday, July 30, I finally decided on green note paper with a blue trim and matching envelopes. I found my Henderson family list printed out from Outlook and put my navy roller ball pen next to the stack of cards sitting on a box of photo paper on which I would print pictures of my renovated home.

Tuesday afternoon on July 31, I got a call from one of John’s sisters that he had passed away. Calling other relatives to tell them of John’s death, each one I spoke with said, “But I just received a card from him.”

I’m putting my supplies back in a drawer. John’s summer card has said it all.

My leadership lessons from this are many. What’s more important is that I realize the importance of continuing my education on how to aunt.